Pebbles in the River, Diamonds in the Sea
by CallingNightSky
Summary: Gemma is now a wise, old woman who has lived a long life. What has become of her? And what has become of her heart? GemmaxKartik. Lightly influenced by "Titanic".


_"For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams_  
><em>Of my beautiful Annabel Lee;<em>  
><em>And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes<em>  
><em>Of my beautiful Annabel Lee;<em>  
><em>And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side<em>  
><em>Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,<em>  
><em>In the sepulcher there by the sea,<em>  
><em>deep in her tomb by the sounding sea."<em>

_-Edgar Allen Poe, "Annabel Lee"_

* * *

><p>A bright light bursts before my eyes like all the stars of Heaven above. It is so bright I can hardly see, hardly open my eyes to its blazing beauty. I feel myself walking towards it, compelled to it like a moth to candle flame. My breath quickens. All I can hear is the sound of it, rising and falling along with the frenzied beating of my heart. I run towards the light in a mad hurry, feeling as though it will disappear before I can reach it, as it has so many times before. Like a mirage in the desert, the closer I get to the ethereal beams, the farther they seem to be from me. But suddenly the light clears, and I find myself in a glorious garden. It is no ordinary garden, but a garden that mirrors all the true beauty and grace of the world, no doubt an equal to Eden itself. The lush green landscape seems to glow all around me, abundant in flowers and trees of exotic beauty. I feel a familiarity strike my heart and suddenly I am crying, for it has been so very long. My tears fall freely onto my dress as I gallop across the soft ground. I am as free as a bird. I am home.<p>

A sudden sound causes me to stop in my tracks, and I find I am facing a very long river. It is monstrous in size, stretching through the land and past the horizon, where it surely never ends. I try as I might to see the other side of the shore, but a thick silver fog has enveloped it entirely, leaving its destination unseen.

I hear the noise again, a soft tapping of wood, and I realize it is a small boat, beating against the shore at the edge of the river. As I watch it slowly dance in the soft current, I feel as though it is beckoning to me, whispering my name. _"Come, Gemma. Come...". _Fear finds its way into my heart. If I take the boat down the river, where will it take me? And will I ever come back?

I gaze once again into the mist and feel as though I am being pulled gently towards it. It is thick and endless, and the longer I stare into it, the more it seems to change before me. It begins to shift and move, as though the fog itself were breathing, and suddenly my heart stops. A figure stands in the depths of the mist, walking closer towards the visible shoreline. It is a man. And he's waving...he's calling to me.

_"Gemma! Gemma!"_

_That voice!_ _I know it!_ A sudden flood of memories surge before my eyes, and I am sobbing in spite of myself. Things remembered from so long ago and I am filled with a rainbow of emotions; pain, sadness, guilt, loss... but most of all there is joy. I am filled with bright-blue joy as I run towards the river's edge, heart pounding in my chest. I stretch out my hand to him as he reaches his end of the shore and I call out his name, desperately trying to reach him. But just like the light, he suddenly seems farther away, shrinking into the mist and leaving me in darkness. I scream and howl as it swallows me, then river disappears and I am floating into nothing.

"No! NO!" I shout. "Not again! Don't leave me again!"

_Please..._

"Mother? Mother?!"

A warm hand is on my chest, shaking me awake. I struggle to open up my eyes and pull myself from the darkness.

"Ann? Fee? Is that you?" I whisper. My voice sounds strange, weak and feeble, and I don't recognize it.

I hear someone sighing, as though I can't be helped. I open up my eyes and fall back into reality, where my daughter, Sarah, stands before me. She has her hands on her hips, long golden hair glinting in the late-afternoon light, as she looks down at me with a mixture of confusion and sadness.

"Mother," she says softly, "Miss Bradshaw and Miss Worthington have passed away. Please try and remember, although I know it hurts you to do so."

I sit up in my bed, which I find is quite a struggle. I look down at my hands, which were once fine and smooth like that of a lady, but are now old and withered with time. The weight of everything comes upon me, and I lay back down. I am an old woman now, aged eighty-six years and getting no younger. It is 1965. I have two children, Sarah and Michael, who both have children of their own. I have raised a family in a small suburb near New York City, and my dearest friends have all gone from this world.

"I'm so sorry, dear." I tell her, pushing down the maze of feelings within me. "I just forget sometimes."

My daughter, my beautiful daughter, smiles down at me. And in that moment my heart fills with maternal love, and I forget everything else.

"I know, Mother," she says soothingly. "Sometimes it's just easier to forget these things. Now let's get you dressed and downstairs. Michael and Judy are here with the children, and you know that nosey woman is just itching to hear about Joseph's new job. "

I laugh at her comment. Even after all these years, gossip and snubbery are still great victors in the world of women.

With the help of my daughter, I am dressed in a simple white gown that puffs at the shoulders and flows loosely beneath. My shoulders ache and my joints are stiff, and I'm reminded of Brigid long ago, how we would roll our eyes at her as she complained of her ailments. But now I understand.

With Sarah's help, I walk down the carpeted staircase to the common room, where I can hear the sounds of my family, talking and laughing loudly. My home is a quaint one, a restored Victorian, and I have lived alone in it for some time now. My husband, Samuel, passed away back in June of 1951 due to a stroke. I had met him in Italy during one of my many travels, though he was an American man, born in Massachusetts. I was twenty-nine years old then. He was charming and intelligent, with the fair blond hair and deep blue eyes of an angel. But it was his beliefs that won me over, his loyalty and strength that had kept me going when my father passed away, and many years after that. His first wife, Melanie, had also passed away. He had loved her deeply, and though he never knew of Kartik, I shared that sentiment with him with an unspoken understanding. I had loved Samuel very much, and I still do. But deep in my heart of hearts, another has always been.

_It's been so long since I've had that dream..._

I arrive downstairs and can't help but swell with pride at the sight of my beautiful family. My son, Michael, a bold and sometimes naive man, stands talking to his wife Judy. She is smiling at him as they talk very animatedly about something, until she notices my presence. She looks toward me with a sideways glance, brushing her fingers through glossy brown hair, and I know this is a nervous habit of hers. I can't help but be reminded of Kartik as she does this, and I smile in spite of myself. Thinking I am smiling at her, she blanches, and turns around towards the kitchen. This does not go unnoticed by my son and he goes to follow her, asking her what is wrong.

A few years ago, on All Hallows Eve morning, I had gone to the local grocery with Judy, Michael, and my three grandchildren. This was back before I displaced my hip, so I was able to walk on my own, without the aid of others. Michael took the children to the candy section, and Judy and I walked over to the deli. As she was ordering some beef steaks for dinner, I looked to my right and noticed a very odd man, staring at me strangely. He was remarkably tall, with light silver hair and a strange face, his long green cloak several decades out of style. I stared back at the man, never one to lose a challenge, and when his eyes met with mine, I gasped. For just the briefest moment, they were large and catlike, a strange blueish-purple that is never seen in the human world. And then suddenly he blinked, eyes a normal muddy-brown. He smiled and whispered, "Hello, Priestess."

It had taken several long seconds to register what was happening, to clear my aged mind. "Philon?" I whispered, incredulous. "Is that you?"

He said nothing, but I watched in awe as he raised his hand and directed it towards a group of young boys in the back of the store, who had been arguing amongst each other over a small toy. Their mother, a small and fragile looking woman, tried to break up the fight, but to no avail. The boys continued to argue, wrenching the toy back and forth, until suddenly they screamed. The toy was no longer such, but a small mouse, and it shrieked and squealed until the boys let go of it in horror. The mother, screaming louder than all, danced in circles as the mouse ran under her skirts. Everyone in the store watched the scene in horror, unsure of what to do. I glanced at Philon, who gave a small smile from behind his human glamour, and I narrowed my eyes.

"That was very unnecessary" I said to him angrily, and I discreetly raised my own hand toward the small critter. In the blink of an eye, the mouse had transformed back into its original, plastic state. Everyone watching stood in confusion, blinking their eyes as if attempting to summon reason. And after a few long moments, they continued to whatever it was they were doing, convinced that their morning cup of coffee had simply been too strong.

"There," I said, as the mother grabbed her children and ran from the store. "Now don't you try anything like that again!" I look to Philon, but he is gone. Instead, Judy is staring at me, her face a mixture of fright and confusion.

"How did you do that?" she whispered quietly, and I realized I had nothing to say.

"Do what, deary?" I asked simply, feigning innocence and assuming it will work.

However, it did not, and she stepped away from me slightly, shaking her head as though she'd gone mad. Michael and the children arrived at that moment, arms full of sweets and none the wiser. He called us a taxi home, and Judy did not speak for the rest of the ride. Nor did she speak to me much after that day.

I know it was Philon that morning, come to visit the human world on the one day that he and the other realm creatures could. I had made the pact many years ago, before I'd met Samuel. The doorway to our world would open only on Halloween morning, and would close that same night. The only other way in or out of the realms was for a member of the Order to summon the door herself. However I had not been able to do that since I was a young woman, for as the years went by I began to lose my magic. Whether it was the way of the realms or simply old age, I do not know, and the bitterness of it has been gone for many years. Besides, I would not return now even if I could, for I am old and withered like a fading flower. I want the creatures of the realms to remember me as I was; young, fierce and beautiful. For those things I am no more.

The magic, however, has not left me completely. Its imprint has left small, permanent kisses on my soul, and I find that sometimes I am able to change my eyes to gold or influence the decisions of others, though not as much as before. The incident with the mouse was the most I'd achieved in years, and I believe part of it was due to the shared energy of Philon's presence. I think often of my days back at Spence; drinking whiskey in the cave with Felicity, Ann, and Pip, torturing the staff, sneaking out at night to dance in the garden of the realms, and him.

Most of all I think of him.

I think of the way he used to smile, the way he would argue with me over destiny, the way he played with his curly hair. But most of all, I think of that day in the Cave of Sighs, where we joined hands and stepped into each other's dreams for the first and last time. Where we became man and wife in an Indian garden, where we made love under the falling rose petals, where we were one and the same person. Two beating hearts joined to one single soul.

And I think of the day I lost him.

"Gramma!" says a small voice. "What are you thinking about?"

I come back to reality and gaze down at Luna, my youngest grandchild. She is my daughter Sarah's only child, a miracle child, for Sarah was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at age thirty. She and her husband Joseph had tried for many years to conceive, but as the years passed, our hopes grew dimmer. After many operations and breakthroughs in medical science, Sarah survived the cancer that had ravaged her womb, but the doctors told us she would never give birth. Yet one day it happened, the bright and shining miracle that is Luna, came from the heavens and into the womb of my daughter. I think it was at that moment that I came to have faith in God.

Little Luna is only ten, but her beauty still continues to astound. She has long, curly hair that shines like the brightest gold, and her eyes are a deep hazel. She is always smiling at others, and I am more proud of her than anything else in my life. Yet there is something else behind those little almond eyes, something I see when I look at her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a deep understanding flickers between us, as though she were a wise old woman, trapped into a child's body. Sometimes I wonder what her future will bring her, what her purpose will be, and I can only hope she will choose what is right when the time may come.

I realize I have tears in my eyes, and that is why she is asking. I quickly wipe them away as though I were simply swatting a fly.

"Oh, nothing, sweetheart." I tell her. "Your old grandmama was just thinking of memories from long ago."

"What about?" she asks innocently. "Were you thinking about granddaddy?"

A small pang of guilt passes over me. I should have been thinking of my Samuel, but I was not. My memories with him are very dear to me; Christmases, picnics, the birth of our children; and there are times when I miss him so badly that my heart aches from the thought. Yet Kartik's face has always been fresh in my mind, clear as a blue sky, as though it were only yesterday I had last seen it.

"Many things, Luna. Many things."

I walk into the dining room, with Michael's help, where everyone has begun to settle in. It is November 9th, and we are celebrating Luna's birthday. Sarah and Judy are bringing out the food from the kitchen, while Joseph chides Luna for eating her entire box of chocolates before dinner has started. Michael's children, Robert and Thomas, who are now both young men, talk about the war.

"I hear there's going to be a draft," Thomas says swiftly. "They're going to draw names out of a hat, and if your name is picked, you have to go off to Vietnam."

"But that's completely unethical." Robert scoffs. "That defeats the whole purpose of the Constitution! Of freedom."

Thomas says nothing for a moment, being a contemplating man, but Robert, sure and strong, assures him.

"It's not going to happen. Stop worrying about the what-ifs."

As the family all sits down and begins to eat, I fall into myself once more. I have been alive to see many things, and the times have changed drastically since I was a girl. Gone are the days of the horse and carriage, of corsets and betrothals. Women can now wear trousers freely, as men do, which would have pleased Felicity greatly. I have seen airplanes, automobiles, and television sets. I have seen motion pictures in color and mint-flavored ice cream. Women have begun to work and to express their opinions outwardly. They dance in the streets without proper clothing, they sing songs of sexuality and love. I have seen wars rage around the world, where many races of people have both suffered and gained in the real war that is freedom. I have seen and done many things, I have been many places, and now my body feels tired and worn. It is as though my spirit is now too great for it, too strong, and wishes to break free from its confines and soar across a familiar purple sky.

After dinner, the family retires back to the living room, where I sit and talk with them for a long while. I tell them the stories my father used to tell me, I tell them the story of the tiger. My children have heard it before, but my grandchildren are listening eagerly.

"So this tiger just walked right by you then, you stared it down?" Robert asks after I'm finished, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes." I say truthfully. "We had an understanding that he would not be harmed if he went in peace."

"An understanding?" Thomas asks. "What do you mean by that? A tiger is a wild animal. There are no understandings as he's tearing out your insides."

"Thomas!" My daughter chides, motioning to Luna, who is hanging on our every word.

"I understand!" Luna says, excitement in her voice. "He understood what was in your heart, that you didn't mean him any harm. He must have heard your thoughts!"

Sarah shoots me a quick look, disapproval mixed with slight amusement, and grabs hold of her beloved daughter. She picks her up with a little swing, and Luna laughs in delight.

"Animals can't hear your thoughts, honey," she tells her kindly. "But maybe he knew some other way. Now get your coat and say goodbye to Grandma. It's getting late and you have school tomorrow. "

"Okay..." Luna says grudgingly, and runs upstairs to grab her things.

"Yes, we'd better all get going." Michael yawns, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm getting too old to be up past nine."

"You're too old?" I say and laugh. "Then I must be ancient."

"Oh, mother," he says sweetly, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You don't look a day over two-hundred."

I laugh so hard that I begin to wheeze, and I have to sit down for a moment. But a sudden thought strikes me, and I force myself up again.

"Mother," Sarah asks. "Where are you going?"

"I f-forgot to give Luna her birthday present." I sputter. I find I am having trouble speaking clearly, much to my frustration. "I need to go u-upstairs and get it."

"Oh alright," she sighs. "Can't it wait? Here, I'll help you up."

Sarah helps me to the top of the stairs, where I tell her I'll be fine from there. She asks if I'm sure, and I assure her I will be fine. She looks back once, gives me a soft smile, and returns downstairs. I lean on the wall and limp slowly to my bedroom, where I can hear Luna humming a song about butterflies. She is sitting on my bed, coat and shoes on, playing with a small handheld mirror. She tilts it this way and that, making the small speck of light that reflects from the glass dance around the ceiling.

"Do you like that mirror, Luna? You can keep it. It was my mother's."

"Really? _Your_ mother's?" she asks with newfound interest. "What was she like?"

I slowly make my way over to her side and sit down next to her. I reach under my bed and pull out a small tin box from underneath its ruffled confines.

"She was beautiful. And very kind. She would have loved you so very much." I say, heart aching as my mother's face flits in my memory. So many faces, so many who have gone...

I open the box and pull out my mother's diary. It has been many years since I've taken it out, but it's contents are now full. I have written my own story on its empty pages, following my mother's, and my heart gives a little jump as I remember it's contents. I close it back up and hand it to Luna.

"This diary held many of my mother's secrets, and it also holds my own. Maybe someday they will be yours too."

"What about _my_ mother's?" she asks. "Are they her secrets too?"

I shake my head. "I love your mother very much, but there are some things that aren't always meant to be shared."

Luna looks confused, brows furrowed tightly across her porcelain face. I marvel once again at the way she sees things, as though she were as old as I.

"Then why are you giving them to me?" she asks. "Why can I know them?

I contemplate my answer. "Because I think you may need to know them one day. But not right now. That's why I want you to promise me that you won't read that diary until you are at least sixteen. Until then, they can remain as they are, secrets."

Luna moans loudly, and I reminded that she is in fact, a child.

"But why, Gramma?" she whines. "I want to know them now!"

"No." I say sternly. "You must promise me."

She gazes at me for a long moment, and I fear that I have made a mistake in giving her such powerful information. But I have not.

"I promise, Gramma Gemma." she says, and wraps her arms around me in a hug. She leans over my shoulder and peers at the open box. "What are those other things in there?"

She points to a photograph taken almost forty years ago. It is a picture of Felicity, Ann, and I. Arms interlocked, we smile at the camera. Felicity is laughing, head thrown back, as though something were very funny, though I can no longer remember what. Ann is beautiful in a sleek lavender dress, a distant reminder of her years of stardom, and she is smiling in content. I stand in the middle, gazing on as though I am looking right through the camera-man. I smile in a wistful way.

"These are my dearest friends." I say softly. "One day you will have friends like them. Just be careful who you choose, should you ever be in need, you'll want friend with hearts that are good and true, who have searched all their dark corners."

"What are dark corners?" Luna asks, making a face. I chuckle.

"Another thing you will know in time, my dear. Don't rush it."

Luna reaches in the box again and grabs a small red handkerchief. My heart flutters as she turns her hands over it, trying to decipher its meaning as well. It is ragged and frayed, faded from years of handling. It is the only piece of him I have.

"That," I whisper. "Was given to me by someone very special."

"This old thing?" she asks, and I see her tiny face trying to understand. I reach out my hand and take it from her, running my fingers over it as though it were spun gold.

"Someday you'll understand," I tell her." That the simplest things can hold the greatest meaning."

"Luna!" calls Sarah from downstairs. "It's time to go! Can you help grandmother down the stairs?"

"Yes, mother!" Luna calls, and like a chaperone from long ago, she takes my arm and guides me down like a perfect gentleman.

I say goodbye to each member of my family, hugging them tightly and wishing them a safe journey. Despite the hour, they all look merry, and I feel the pride that only a parent can feel as she gazes at her wonderful children. But as they go to leave, I take Luna aside.

"Remember, Luna," I say quietly. "It is our secret, alright? Remember what you promised me."

She looks at me with bright shining eyes; the eyes of a future leader, a future lover, a future hope.

"I promise, Gramma." she whispers. And with that, she hides the dairy in the innards of her coat and runs out into the cool November night. I watch them all go, a lightness in my heart, but suddenly I feel very tired. I struggle greatly to walk up the stairs and into my bedroom, though usually I sleep downstairs, but I feel as though tonight, I belong there.

I lay upon my bed and heave a great sigh as my body finds rest, where my aching bones do not pain me so. My window is cracked just slightly, enough where I can feel the cool night's breeze, whispering secrets against my skin. The air is fresh, and I draw in a long deep breath, letting it refresh my lungs and relax the beating of my heart. I lay in bed for more than an hour, just breathing deeply the crisp November night. I can smell autumn in the breeze, bringing its promise of winter to the green Earth. I think upon many things, letting my life float before my eyes like a gentle carousel. I think of my family, of Luna, and I think of him.

_Kartik._

I remember him so fiercely now. I think upon his dark brown skin, his inky black eyes, his deep honeyed voice. My body heats in spite of itself, an exhilaration I haven't felt in years, and I travel deeper into my mind. I imagine his hands in the Cave of Sighs, in our dreams, rubbing down the length of my naked body in small, swift motions. I remember the feeling of utter completeness, like we belonged there, together, two halves of a whole. I remember his lips upon my breasts, the absolute pleasure he bestowed to me as we moved in perfect motion. I remember the way he said my name, as if it were a precious jewel he had obtained. _Gemma, Gemma. _Over and over as if I was the only thing that existed. He had looked at me so lovingly then, stroking my hair, and just thinking of it brings tears to my eyes. My heart feels a renewed heaviness.

I do not regret my life, instead I cherish it. I no longer wish it had been different. I think of my children and I know that I would not change a thing. But I have never stopped wondering. What would we have become? What would have been, had my true love never left this world?

With great difficulty, I get up from my bed. My body protests, causing my back to spasm and my lungs to wheeze. I use all of my strength to cross the room and open the tin box once again. I take out the small handkerchief and, holding it to my breast, I lay back down. I gaze upon it without really looking, thinking of the meaning it holds, the memories. I remember when we first met, how he would tie it to my window at night, a signal he wanted to meet. I remember how badly I would look forward to those visits, though I would deny it to myself. I remember our first kiss, stolen as it was, and I blush all over again. I think and smile and laugh. And I believe it amazing, how such a short time with someone can leave an impact on your life forever.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots. I listen to the sound, wondering what it is he is calling to. Is it the night sky? The moon? A lost love? I imagine myself, high upon a hill, calling for him. I imagine him running to me with arms apart, calling back in return. I open my eyes again and gaze around my empty bedroom, feeling the heavy weight of sadness like so many times before. Something catches in my throat, and I break into a fit of coughing. It lasts for several painful minutes, and when it's over I am shaking. I grip onto my pillow to calm myself, for I feel something is not right. I breathe heavily and wait for the feeling to subside, and eventually I lay back down. I breathe in the night again, though it has fallen silent, and I close my eyes...for they are so very heavy.

I see the bright light again, though this time it is all around me, glowing fiercely like a blazing fire. I am confused and frightened, lost in its blinding beauty. Yet it clears once again, revealing the beautiful Garden before me, and suddenly I feel as if a great weight has been lifted away. I breathe in deeply, yet have no trouble doing so. I feel light as a feather, twirling in joyful circles across the green pasture. Red locks of hair spin around my face as I dance, and I gasp in shock. I am young again, beautiful, and I weep at this revelation. I laugh and spin, I can hear every sound, see every sight. The magnificent sun sets on a purple horizon, the wind blows through the grass as if kissing it gently, and a flock of birds soars just above my head. I am whole. I am new. I am young. I am old. I am everything I've ever been yet everything I've always wanted. I am myself. I am me. And this brings me a bright and complete happiness that I have never experienced before.

I hear a sound, and I whirl around effortlessly. There before me is a great forest, closer than it had originally appeared. It is bright and vibrant and I see many creatures within it, who smile and wave at me like old friends. Because they are.

"Hello, Priestess." says a tall creature. It is Philon, and he is smiling at me, smoking his pipe and waving his hand at a centaur passing by.

"So... it is time then." he says, and I wonder what he means. But right as I'm about to ask, I am greeted by another voice. It is Gorgon, standing before me in all her warrior might, and I am more happy to see her than anything else.

"May we meet again, Priestess." Philon says behind me, and I notice his voice sounds farther away. "In another time."

I whirl again to see that he is gone, along with the forest and all of its creatures. I am standing by the river now, Gorgon at my side, and I wonder how I could have gotten so far so very fast.

"Gorgon," I ask. "Where did Philon go? The forest-?"

"They are where they have always been." Gorgon says, interrupting me. "It is _you_ who must be where you have never been."

"I don't understand..." I say, but a small kernel of thought begins to seep into the back of my mind.

"Don't you?" Gorgon says, and she smiles warmly at me. She takes my hand in hers, and I am surprised at the rare gesture of affection.

"Tell me, Most High, how is it that you were able to come here now, after all these years?"

I blink, astonished.

"Am I- am I really here?"

Gorgon does not answer, but simply smiles once more. "Have a blessed journey, my dearest friend. You will always be remembered here. May you find whatever it is that you are looking for."

And with that, she and the garden are gone, and I am drowning in nothingness once again.

"Wait! Wait!" I scream with all my might. "Don't leave me here! Please! Wait..."

I open my eyes. I am back in front of the river now, but it is different than before. It looks the way it did in my dream, long and never-ending, stretching into the distance and past the horizon. The great mist has enveloped the other side, and I feel confusion and fright. I sob loudly, begging for an explanation, for a way out.

"Gemma Doyle, daughter of Mary Dowd?"

I gasp and whip around at the voice. There before me, floating in the river, are the Three. They look at me with passive familiarity, and realization hits me like a thousand bricks. Yet I dare not think it. I dare not say it.

"It is not a long ride, my dear." whispers the oldest in a hoarse, ancient voice. "We will be there in the blink of an eye. Please, get in."

I sit in the boat numbly, unseeing and unthinking, and it begins to float down the river as the current picks up. The scenery blends around me, and like a leaf in the wind I am pulled along into the great mist, past the horizon, where I will never again return.

* * *

><p>I wake up to a strange <em>whooshing<em> sound, and I open my eyes. I am lying on a beach, in the sand, and the sunlight shines warmly down upon me. As I go to stand, I realize I am more rested than I have ever been, as though I will never be in need of sleep again. I breathe in deeply a wave of fresh air and take in the sights before me. I am standing in front of a great sea, its deep blue waters reaching out to kiss the tips of my toes. All around me are clear blue skies, where birds call to one another in the distance. I look down and find that I am wearing a long purple dress, one I remember from many years ago. Feeling a sense of joy, I twirl around in circles down the shore, my red locks flaming in the sun. Further down the shore I come upon a great stone, its long shadow stretching out across the sand. Feeling compelled to it, I walk a little closer. When I reach it, all the breath comes out of me, and I grasp wildly at my chest. Carved into the stone, as though it had been there for thousands of years, is a symbol; a great circle with two hands inside of it, intertwined for eternity. Tears fall from my eyes and I am reminded of a beautiful dream, a dream of love and of beauty. I reach out my trembling hand and place it inside the circle, basking in its cool touch. I close my eyes, remembering, and listen to the sounds of the sea. But it's then that I hear it.

"Gemma."

I turn around slowly, because I am fearful. Fearful of what, I don't quite know, but maybe it is disappointment, that I will turn and no one will be there, like it has been so many times before. But I when I turn he is there, as handsome as ever, with the biggest grin I have ever seen. He's wearing black trousers and that dark-green waistcoat that he used to wear so often, and my heart hammers in my throat. I say nothing, but instead I bawl like a small child. I weep so hard that my body shakes, and he takes a careful step towards me. Smiling softly, he whispers,

"Meraa mitra yahaan aaiye."

Come here, my friend.

I leap towards him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, expecting to fall right through, to wake up from this dream and be alone in my room. But no, he is here, and I can feel him; his warmth, his muscles, his soft touch as he caresses my hair and rocks me gently. My heart feels as though it will explode with happiness, bright and shining as if it were the sun itself, bursting with flame and light. I cry harder now, though they are tears of joy.

"Kartik..." I whisper his name, and for the first time in many years, he hears it.

"I've been waiting for you," he says, pushing a stray lock of hair from my eyes. "But now you're here."

And I am. I am here. I am home. And for the first time... it is not a dream.

We lay in the sand and hold each tightly. I run my hands down the length of his body, as he does mine. I can smell him, feel him, taste him, and one last grateful tear slides down my cheek. _"_Thank you,_"_ I whisper to no one, or maybe I do, and Kartik grins a wide smile. He takes my face and pulls me in for a kiss, and when our lips meet they crash against each other, like the rolling waves of the sea slamming against the land. We are joined together, hand in hand, in an eternal circle that does not begin or end. In love, and in eternity, never to be broken again.


End file.
